


Into The Twilight Zone

by Nyxed



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, BAMF Lydia Martin, Demons, Drama, Eventual Pydia, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Hunters, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Multi, Not Beta Read, Pack Feels, Peter is Lydia's anchor, Pydia, Pydia is a thing, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Some possibly creepy!Peter, Song Inspired, Sorry Not Sorry, Spirit World, The Author Regrets Nothing, This may or may not inflict feels, Violence, Work In Progress, dark content, new pack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxed/pseuds/Nyxed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia’s life is endangered while preforming a ritual that allows her to gain access to the spirit realms. The pack may lose her forever unless they can retrieve her before time runs out; and the most suitable person for the task is the one who had failed to complete it in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my *first* ever Pydia fic. I have posted one before, but while that was submitted before this story - I actually started working on this story prior to writing 'Glorified Babysitters'.
> 
> I refuse to believe that Lydia would just accept Allison's death, or that any of them would for that matter. Lydia take's it especially personal in this fic. She becomes obsessed with the idea of resurrecting Allison. As you can imagine, that's probably a quest that wont end any way but badly. 
> 
> That being said this takes place AU of the season 3 finale, I've placed it at roughly 4 years after Allison's death. Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Kira, and Isaac have all graduated highschool prior to the start of this story and are of college age now. Which I believe would put them around 19-20 ys/o and up
> 
> This song is also based off/inspired by Golden Earring's 'Twilight Zone'. It's all kinds of great, if you've never heard it before you should give it a listen. 
> 
> On a final note as of this moment, this story is not beta'd. Any errors are mine and mine alone, and for that I apologize.

With every ring she grew more and more anxious. There was always the thought of ‘what if?’  
  
What if he didn’t pick up?  
What if none of them picked up?  
  
She couldn’t do it on her own. She’d tried. Those rituals weren’t powerful enough. She wasn’t powerful enough. Even she had her limits. It had taken two failures before she realized the flaws in her plans. When she found the new rituals. They were more dangerous, but came with a higher success rate.  
  
Finally the ringing stopped.  
  
“Lydia?” The voice on the other end of the phone asked. They sounded relieved. She knew that would not last long. As soon as she spoke, any relief that he felt would flee like a thief in the night.  
  
She glanced out the front window - eyes fleeting upwards to the night sky. “I’m almost ready. I’ll need everyone here in an hour.” Her tone was cool, nonchalant. It was a facade.  
  
“Lydia, how many more times are you going to do this? Maybe we can’t. If we could, don’t you think it would have worked by now?”  
  
Her voice changed, betraying the collected demeanor that she had been trying to portray.  Lydia's tone turned one of warning as she breathed his name into the phone. “ _Stiles._ ”  
  
“Jesus, you barely made it la-“  
  
Lydia cut him off “An hour.” was all that she said before she ended the phone call, depositing the cellphone into her purse. He would come, she told herself. He would always. So would the others.  
  
As she pulled her eyes away from the night sky she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t her face as a whole, just her eyes. You could tell a lot by looking at someone’s eyes. Or the skin around them, in her case. Her initial reaction was to reach for the makeup bag that she had in her purse. The makeup she’d put on prior to stepping onto a plane for a fourteen hour flight had since worn off. She looked tired, older. Pretty, but older. When was the last time that she’d gotten any sleep? She couldn’t remember. While she was out of the country, virtually never. When she was home…it was hard. Some nights she had dreams. Dreams where she had been there when Allison had died. Dreams that she had been the one to run her through with a sword. It was silly, of course. Stiles had said that some part of her must have still felt guilty, as if she had a hand in Allison’s death. Maybe that was it.  
  
But soon, it wouldn’t matter. Soon she would bring Allison back.

  
  
xxx

  
  
The jeep came to a stop beside Lydia’s car. The only other one in the abandoned lot. Which meant he would get a few minutes alone with her. That was good. The phone call from earlier had been the first time he’d talked to her in two weeks. Text messages to reassure him that she was still alive didn’t count. She hadn’t even asked him to go with her. She’d stopped asking that a long time ago.  
  
Maybe he could talk her out of it. Change her mind at the last minute. It was a stupid thought, he knew it. Every time he thought about that. What if he could convince her to leave it. They all missed Allison, they all wanted her back. They’d tried, but it hadn’t worked. People kept getting hurt. Lydia herself had gotten up close and personal with death one too many times. With each new ritual, the more power involved, it was like they lost a part of her. Slowly time and magic was chipping away at the brave, strong woman he knew. If she noticed it she hid it well. It was always just one more.  
  
One more contact.  
One more ancient text.  
One more flight.  
One more ritual.  
One more near death experience.  
  
She was so stubborn, dangerously so. He’d always liked it about her, but now…now it worked against him. He grabbed the duffel bag off of the passengers seat. The longer he waited, the less time he would have.  
  
The night enveloped him as he slid from the car. He could see the dim lights flickering from behind the dirt encrusted windows. Lydia had already set up. That didn’t come as a shock to him. Now he simply went through the motions. One foot in front of the other, heading towards the door. As he reached it, a figure stepped from the shadows. Stopping in the middle of the path a meter or so ahead.  
  
“You’re here.” Stiles spoke, disinterested.  
  
Pete smiled. “Of course I am. She needs me.”  
  
Stiles fist clenched at this side. He said it like it meant something, like he had bragging rights. Of course, he did. He was Lydia’s anchor.  
  
They hadn’t used him at first. They hadn’t even thought of it. They had both thought that having himself and Scott on stand-by was enough. When Lydia went over their failures, there became a recurring theme. She needed someone’s help, help that he couldn’t adequately provide. It was a slap in the face when Deaton had told them that she needed a bond with someone. This bond would allow someone to 'pull' Lydia back from the other realm. It needed to be something special. Something beyond a physical one. Love and attraction wouldn’t cut it, it just wasn't strong enough. They needed a bond, like the one that Peter had created when he had attacked Lydia.  
  
Peter, the big bad werewolf. He didn’t give a crap about anyone but himself. Stiles wasn’t even sure why he showed up. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that he knew how much he hated him. Peter did it just to spite him. He couldn’t have that sort of bond with Lydia. They could cast one in blood, but it wouldn’t be strong enough. He was just Stiles. Poor, human Stiles. Being possessed by a supernatural creature didn’t exactly count. None of that residual energy had stayed behind.  
  
Stiles took a few steps forward, his boots crunching against the gravel. Then he stopped. “What do you know about this one?”  
  
Peter shrugged. “It’s bigger than anything she’s tried already. Riskier. It could go horribly wrong, end in bloodshed and tears.”  
  
God, if he could have put an end to him now he would have. Stiles rushed forward. His free hand grabbed the lapel of Peter’s jacket. He shoved him backwards as hard as he could until Peter's back was up against the door. “This isn’t a game. If you don't do _your_ job she could die.”  
  
The older man laughed, like he wasn’t taking him seriously. Which knowing Peter…that was exactly the case. “If she doesn’t do _her_ job we could all die.”  
  
Stiles gave him one more shove, just for good cause before he backed himself off. They couldn’t do this now. Stiles pushed past him, his shoulder catching the man’s chest. He only got a few steps before he stopped again. “We’re not waiting as long this time. I don’t care what she says. If she’s out for too long, you’re bringing her back.” His voice was forceful, serious. Not the type of tone someone would normally take around a werewolf who still had his fair share of anger issues.  
  
Peter’s smirk faded a little. In fact, now it looked something more like a grimace. “It’s getting harder to do that.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
That was all Stiles said. It was all that he could say. As much as he hated Peter, this was one thing he couldn’t blame on him  
  
  
Neither of them said a word as they entered the rundown building.

xxx

  
  
She was sitting in the center of a circle of lit candles. On her lap there was a worn, leather bound book. She didn’t look up when they entered the room, but their presence did not go unnoticed. “Did you get in touch with Scott?”  
  
There was no other form of greeting. She didn’t say hi, she didn’t even look up at them. It hadn’t always been like that. The first year after Allison died, when they hadn’t even been sure that what they were doing was the right thing to do. She would look over at him for reassurance, they would go over the ritual at length. He would be beside her the entire time, at least as close as he could get without interfering. Afterwords when the sting of defeat wore off he’d convince her to go out and get some dinner with all of them, or they would all go shopping the next day. That was before. Now he didn’t even get a hello.  
  
“Scott, Derek, Isaac, Deaton…everyone.” Stiles replied, placing the duffel bag onto a dusty table. There was a singular emotion in his voice, fatigue. He was tired of this, tired of everything. His fingers tugged at the zipper of the bag, shuffling various objects around until he found the worn two-way radio. They all had one, fully charged and ready for use. He checked the dials and turned the switch. “We’re here, almost ready to go.” Stiles announced to the people on the receiving end.  
  
There was a moment of silence before responses began to pour in. Derek and Isaac were on the perimeter already, Scott was on his way with Kira in tow. Deaton was due to arrive anytime now.  
  
  
“Finish the circle,” She said as she pushed the bag that had been by her towards Peter’s feet. He happily obliged, removing a piece of red chalk from a bag. He went to work while Stiles organized the items on the table. “This one’s stronger. I found a way to intensify the effects.” Peter looked up at this, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. Stiles on the other hand completely froze in place.  
  
“That’s what you said about the last one.”  
  
“It’s a minor adjustment.”  
  
“You said that about the last one, too.” Stile’s jaw locked into place, teeth gritted.  
  
“I wouldn’t do it if I couldn’t handle it.” Her tone was stiff and he knew that he had hit a nerve. Lydia retaliated. “If I can’t, I have Peter.” Stiles didn’t even glance in the wolves direction. He already knew the smug expression that would grace Peter Hale’s face after a remark like that all too well.  
  
The fact was that Lydia had stopped being able to handle it properly over a year ago. That was why Peter was a permanent fixture in their rituals now. As they got more complex, Lydia was unable to pull herself back from the other realm. She couldn’t wake herself up. Nine times out of ten her return was forced by Peter. He’d call out to her. Actually it wasn’t that elegant. He’d grab her head in his hands and scream in her face. The way wolves could call to the pack. Stiles hated it. It only reinforced the fact that the two of them had a connection. When Peter had attacked her years ago he had forged it. He’d used to it his advantage at first, eventually it seemed as if he’d forgotten about it. That was, until the Nogitsune showed up. That was when everything changed.  
  
Stiles shook his head, as if the action would literally tear the memories out of his mind. He couldn’t be thinking about that now. He couldn’t afford the distraction, or the misplaced guilt. He tried to avoid the thoughts just as he tried to avoid looking at Peter and Lydia in the center of the room. She was rifling through her bag for a small wooden box. Stiles couldn’t see her, but with Peter finishing the circle that was the final step. When she finally pulled out the box she would withdraw two vials. The first vial would render her unconscious. The second was more important, it was what allowed her to cross over. A carefully crafted brew of the rarest herbs and potentially illicit substances. It allowed her to ‘trick’ the realms, and their inhabitants, into believing that she belonged - that she was actually a spirit.  
  
  
“I’m starting now,” The strawberry blonde spoke a warning. Stiles relayed that message over the radio. Peter had picked up her bag and removed it from the circle. Leaving Lydia with the box and the vials. He remembered the first time that she had done it; she had actually looked afraid. Which, she had been quick to quash as soon as she noticed that other people were aware that her emotions were on display for all to see. She did not open the vials as easily, and she’d barely been able to drink them the first time. The scent and taste were so pungent she had almost been ill. Either she had gotten used to it, or she had managed to disassociate herself from the unpleasant experience. There was almost no trace of the girl who had preformed the first ritual; save for the psychical resemblance. There was an icy defiance in her eyes. Her body was visibly tense, as if her muscles were spring-loaded. Lydia had always been a serious person but this was something else entirely.  
  
  
In a matter of seconds she had emptied the contents of both vials. She was careful to place them back in the box the way they had been when she had first extracted them. Lydia took a deep breath and straightened out her back. To her right, Peter had already helped himself to a chair and was sitting back and keeping an eye on the banshee. Stiles would do the same once she was out; the process wasn’t quick. Usually it lasted three to four hours at the very least. Lately it had run for longer, much longer. They made eye contact for a moment. He used to be able to read her so well, but not anymore.  
  
“I’ll see you soon.” He spoke quietly, bowing his head. Lydia only nodded in response. Only seconds after, her eyes slowly fluttered shut. That signaled the beginning of the process. Only then did Stiles allow himself to sit down. In a few hours she would be back, empty handed as always. Then she would shut herself away with her books and her extensive contact list, trying to figure out how she could improve on the next ritual.  
  
He remembered when it wasn’t like that. These rituals, her quest…it was all consuming.  
  
It hadn’t always been like that. In the beginning even when they were first learning about the rituals - Lydia had still been Lydia. They’d gotten closer, extremely close since Allison's death. Boyfriend and girlfriend close. Lydia had even moved in with him type of close. Close enough for him to carry around a small red velvet box with a ring inside of it. The box was currently laying in the duffel bag that he had brought with him. Stiles almost always had it on him. Part of him hoped that maybe one day their Lydia, his Lydia, would come back to him. Either Lydia would succeeded and bring Allison back - or that she would realize, as the rest of them had, that maybe it wasn’t their place to raise the dead after all. It was a dumb thing to hope for, things returning back to the way they had been. Stiles knew that, if they hadn't changed by now he doubted that they ever would.


	2. Chapter 2

_“You can’t stay with her 24/7 and you can’t leave her here alone. An alarm system wont cut it. Who knows what’s going to come after her. She’s vulnerable.”_

McCall’s words rang in his ears. That conversation had happened weeks ago, but he remembered it like it had been yesterday. He’d thought about that conversation every night since it had happened. That was the night he’d agreed to be a bodyguard of sorts to Lydia Martin.

Lydia, was in the bed beside him. Hooked up to an array of IV’s and monitors. She wasn’t sick though, in fact they were to keep her healthy as she was. Lydia was perfectly fine with the exception of one minor detail. She was in a coma.

He hadn’t been able to wake her. No one had. Shadow walking, astral projection. Whatever you wanted to call it, Lydia was doing it. Her body was there physically but her mind, her spirit. Her very essence was gone. There was nothing but an empty shell now. That meant there was no brain activity, hence the machines. No one really knew what had gone wrong. There were theories, someone or something had intervened with the ritual or Lydia had underestimated herself and did not possess the power to cross back over again. Though to Peter, it didn’t matter. Whatever caused it the result was still the same.

He had always been able to call her back before. Even if it took a little longer, she would come back. This time had been different. He could barely even feel her by the time he had called her back. It was like the ritual had drained her very life-force. Stiles hadn’t even ordered him to do it, Peter had rushed to Lydia, grabbing her face in her hands. He’d expected her to wake up. Her eyes would snap open and she’d tell him to back off, or comment on his breath. There hadn’t been anything though.

By morning they had taken her to the hospital. The problems were ones that medicine and science could not fix. She was in the hospital for a month before she had been ‘checked out’. While the others had been looking for ways to wake her, her parents were talking about other things. What if she didn’t wake up? There weren’t signs of brain activity, after all. There was nothing. They didn’t want their baby girl to waste away in a hospital. Stiles, Scott, and their little army convinced them otherwise. To give her more time. Miracles happened and all of that crap.

Eventually ( and reluctantly ) they moved Lydia To the Stilinski household. It was closer to the hospital, there was plenty of extra room. Her parents had been reluctant but eventually agreed after Stiles had worn them down, touching on the last nerves they possessed. In the end it seemed better to have Lydia somewhere familiar, at least it was a comfort to them. That was all that mattered at that point.

 

A few weeks after the ritual failed, bad things started happening. Worse than usual. Beacon Hills had always been a mecca for the supernatural but Lydia had amplified it. The emissary explained that when she opened the rift to shadow walk, it worked both ways. Of course they knew that, how many times had they had to fight back something that slipped through the cracks? That’s why the whole group was involved. Since Lydia had never come back, she was still on the other side…the rift was still open. If they closed it, they would lose her.

Every night they patrolled the woods, the alleys, he’d lost count of how many things they’d sent back into the other planes. To make matters worse, a lot of these things seemed interested in their little banshee. There had been an incidence at the hospital which had prompted both her move into the Stilinski household, and his position as round-the-clock babysitter. Something had gotten into the ward, past all the security and into her locked room.

When a nurse came to do rounds they reported seeing a shadowy figure bending over Lydia. When they opened the door the figure seemed to ‘vanish’. When they checked on Lydia, they noticed an array of cuts on her arm, and even stranger, burns. Injuries which hadn’t been there before. People began reporting ‘shadow figures’ in and around the hospital. Deaton had said it was spirits, things from the other side and their own realm that were curious; or possible had more malicious intentions.

So there he was. Sitting in a worn old recliner, a step up from the lawn chair which Stiles had originally set him in.

 

—-

Typically, he sat there in silence. There was the occasional drone of the TV, but for the first few hours the only sounds came from the monitors that Lydia was hooked up to. Then his own voice would fill the room.

Deaton had suggested it, of course, out of Stile’s range of hearing. He’d encouraged Peter to speak to Lydia. Perhaps because of their bond, she might be able to hear them. Of course it yielded no results - but Peter quickly found it becoming part of his nightly routine. At first it had been awkward - what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to plead with her to return? Or talk about the weather? How Stiles was going mental without her?

Though it quickly dawned on him that she couldn’t hear him. If she did, she would react. He could say anything to her…and she would never know. For that matter, neither would anyone else. Mostly Peter spoke about whatever dramatic event was taking place in their messed up little town; there was no shortage of it since Lydia had opened a gateway between the realms. There was always a creature to mention, or some seemingly insane but surprisingly brilliant plan from the McCall pack to help deal with an aforementioned creature.

He’d never been one to guard his words, despite whoever might have been in the room. He told her how lost they were without her; how they would likely all get themselves killed before she came back. That the pack needed her.

Tonight he did not deviate from his usual schedule. Though the subject up for discussion was more serious than it usually was.

“They’re talking about taking you off the machines.The doctors haven’t exactly been providing your parents with an hopeful outlook. The Emissary and Argent think that if we take you off the machines, we’ll close your body off to the rest of you…you wouldn’t be able to get back.”

Peter let out a dejected sigh. “They need you, you know. Stiles is getting that look in his eye, the same one you did after Allison died. He’s going to walk down the same path. Normally, I wouldn’t mention it but…” Maybe it would draw her back? The two had been so close for a time. Until Lydia had shut them all out.

“They think this was a freak accident,” Peter added gruffly. “You’ve been out for hours, days, once it was even close to two weeks. That was in the beginning, none of us really understood what we were tapping into. I think that you knew this time. If you’d told them that you would be gone for this long, they would never have let you preform the ritual.” It made sense - and he wondered if anyone else had considered it. Allison would not just be waiting for Lydia on the other side, she would have to search for her. No one knew how big the realms were. How expansive, or how dangerous. There was only a handful of people who had managed to survive one trip; nevermind return for seconds or thirds. Most never came back with the thing that they had sought in the first place if they even came back at all.

“It wont matter soon. If you come off of life support…” There was a concern in his voice. One that he might not have let slip if anyone else had been present. His mind began to turn to other things, and Peter almost immediately fell silent.

 

\-- _3 days later_ \--

 

“What do you mean we have a week?” He demanded through gritted teeth. There was quiet on the other end of the phone. On the other line, he knew that Stiles was just barely hold it together.

The man was close to tears, if he wasn’t crying already. “A week from today they’re going to…she’s…” Stiles couldn’t force the words out. “I have go.” The young man murmured weakly. Seconds later, the line went out.

His fingers twisted around the phone until it began to break right in his hand. Peter lashed out, free hand colliding with the wall. A pained howl erupted from his throat. Not because of the fact that he’d just punched clear through drywall, and his fist had hit the cement beyond it. In fact he was oblivious to that pain. It was something else entirely.

The phone clattered to the floor as he extracted his fist from the wall. Peter turned on his heel, in a few short strides he was at Lydia’s bedside again. He stood over her, a towering thing in comparison. His hands flew to her shoulders, fingers bunching themselves into the fabric of her nightgown. “Lydia, I know you’re still out there. If you can hear me at all, you need to come back.” He shook her, gently. Not as hard as he could have, or as hard as he wanted to. Her carefully combed hair fell in locks over her face. As always, Lydia did not move.

Peter leaned in, his hands still on her shoulders. “You need to come back now Lydia.They’ve accepted that Allison is gone but if they lose you too, it will ruin them, p-“ Peter shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. He took a deep breath, her scent filling his nostrils. If Stiles were there, he would have killed him. Every single threat Stiles had ever made would have become real.

 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way. Peter Hale, showing emotion? That wasn’t typical for him.

Once they removed her from life support, she would die. It would be final.Her parent’s had spoken about organ donation, which sickened him. They’d brought it up, he’d just so happened to be lurking in the other room. He’d heard the entire conversation. The idea of Lydia being cut open, pieces of her being removed and sewn into other people? He’d thought about what it would be like to meet one of those people; would he know that they had Lydia’s kidneys? Her lungs? Even her heart?

He’d probably rip them right back out.

 

Once they were done they’d either bury her, or cremate her. As someone who had been both, at one point, Peter wasn’t a fan of either. Peter much preferred the scenario in which their pretty little banshee survived to outlive them all.

Lydia was the reason why he was alive. She was the reason that he had been allowed to stay on Beacon Hills. She was intelligent, and as beautiful as she was cunning. She was the only thing worth sticking around for in this godforsaken town - and in a week she would be gone. Gone in the most final way. She didn’t have someone to resurrect her. She was supernatural but she was not immortal. He thought about scooping her up in his arms and walking right out of the house, right out of Beacon Hills. Lydia and all the expensive, fancy medical equipment he needed in order to keep her alive.

Then it hit him again, a reminder. A fact that was drilled into his mind every second of every day that he was near her still body. What he was touching now, was a shell. A beautiful one, but a shell. It’s eyes would not snap open and push him away, but only before making some grossly snide remark about him being some sort of creep.

Sure he was resourceful, he was a Hale after all. He didn’t know how he would even start on the path to retrieving Lydia. That would be what he wanted to do. Bring her back. Her body, beautiful as it was, without her in it…

He’d been Lydia’s designated ‘guardian’ and he spent most of his time glued to her side. He’d always liked Lydia, she was the smart one. It was extremely difficult for Peter to acknowledge anyone as a possible equal in any department. It was difficult to earn his respect, without trying Lydia had done both. One of the few people in their unfortunate town who could match his with and intelligence breath for breath. The longer he had stayed around, the more he’d been involved with the McCall pack; the more she grew on him. There was something about her. He often wondered if it had to do with the bond between them. In a sense, she could have easily been his pack. Had she not been immune of course. It was quite the thought. What would she have been like, had she had not been immune to the bite? Lydia as a beta would have been a sight. Even though she did not possess the same spirit within her as he did, fate had still tied them together. The fact he was her anchor had been a shock to everyone, even him. After some reflection, he didn’t see how it had been such a surprise. They had more of a connection, better or worse, than she had with anyone else in Beacon Hills.

At first he had tried to remain indifferent but after a week or two it proved difficult. The world would truly be at a loss if it were to lose Lydia Martin. McCall and the others needed her, he’d seen how they’d handled Allison’s loss and that had been years ago. Death was arguably and in most cases, inevitable but Allison had been killed too soon, too young. It had rocked the group to it’s foundation, it had changed Lydia. She had easily bee the most affected, the most adamant about retrieving Allison. Saying it hadn’t been her time, it wasn’t meant to be. Allison needed to be back with them and she was the one to bring her back. In the beginning the others had been fairly easy to sway, Lydia had gained support rather quickly. For whatever reason the others had been under the impression that within one or two rituals, their friend would be ushered back into the realm of the living and they could move on. Of course it wasn’t that simple. The more rituals that Lydia needed to preform, the less and less true support she got. They did show up at the end of the day, but only because she needed them. They weren’t there for Allison, any hope of her return had died long ago. They were there to help Lydia, keep an eye on her. The only hope they had left was the hope that maybe one day Lydia would accept Allison’s fate, too.

 

It was difficult to see her like this, in such a state. It almost made him uncomfortable. There was something genuinely unnerving about knowing that Lydia wasn’t in the room with him, and something even more unnerving in knowing that somewhere she could be lost, or trapped in some other world beyond all reach and help. She deserved better than that, so much better. Someone like Lydia, their stories weren’t supposed to end like this. As cliche as it was Peter silently agreed each time he heard someone utter a comment about how Lydia was much too young to have her life taken away from her. So much wasted potential.

She was his days and his nights now. He had gone from seeing her around town, to being sat up at her bedside. While generally Peter was not the babysitting type…this was Lydia. She had painted some sort of target on herself when she had first opened those rifts. He could only imagine the power it must have taken. He couldn’t blame the creatures, the things that felt so drawn to her. Who wouldn’t want that sort of power? He would have been lying if he said it wasn’t part of the reason he thought so highly of her.

His time at the bedside had prompted some…interesting changes. He was invested now. Unlike when it had all started, he had agreed to help simply because he needed to fill his otherwise empty nights. He needed entertainment. Now he was wrapped up in it and there was no way to deny it. Conscious Lydia was formidable but in this state…she was so vulnerable. There was a draw, he wasn’t sure where it had come from and he hadn’t bothered mentioning it; the group still wasn’t overly fond of the fact that he was crucial in their bid to keep Lydia ‘alive’. He felt protective of her, the more time that passed, the more heightened the instinct. She was special, she was important, she was powerful. Quite frankly he didn’t trust anyone else to do it, and if someone tried to relieve him of his post now they would have to drag him from the room.

Peter hadn’t meant for it to happen, in hindsight he probably should have seen it happening. He wasn’t a man who made connections. When he did, the other people in the partnership often got the short end of the stick. He liked people when they were a means to an end. Anything else was complicated, messy. He didn’t need people to survive - and why surround himself by the lesser? Despite the current hierarchy issues in his mind, he was the alpha. He had always been. There had never been an adequate match for him, no worthy advisory. Not until he’d met Lydia.

 

He wasn’t sure that they were exactly friends. How could they be, after what he’d done? Still he didn't think that she completely hated him. Or she just hid it incredibly well. That wasn't something that he would put past her at all. Peter settled on the side of the bed, back facing Lydia. He stole an idle glance at his hand, which was already in the process of healing - all pain had fled the limb. His gaze was drawn to the now damaged wall, bits of plaster and drywall sitting underneath the jagged hole. Stiles wouldn't be happy about that; but there wasnt much that he could do about it now. Maybe Stiles wouldn't yell, afterall. Considering they had bigger issues to tackle than a hole in the wall. Whenever Stiles stormed into the house, and storm he would, he would make a beeline for Lydia's side like they all did. A hole in the wall was the least of their worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will delve a little more into Peter's change in attitude/feelings towards Lydia in future chapters. I'm kind of staying purposely vague right now because from my point of view, Peter isn't *entirely* sure what is actually going on himself. He doesn't' know if it's their bond, or some other outside influence.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! It means a lot to me that you guys gave this a look. If you'd got a sec and you don't mind, I'd love to hear your feedback on this story. This is my first real shot at writing Teen Wolf fanfiction, as well as my first try at writing Pydia. Let me know what you think! :)


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